


Fragments

by junkienicky



Series: Snapshots [11]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Light Angst, One Shot Collection, Short & Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-29 14:35:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkienicky/pseuds/junkienicky
Summary: A collection of drabbles and ficlets from Franky and Bridget's domestic life.
Relationships: Franky Doyle & Bridget Westfall, Franky Doyle/Bridget Westfall
Series: Snapshots [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1310657
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	1. Shpilkes

**Author's Note:**

> Just some very brief Fridget one shots I've written on a whim because I miss their domestic scenes dearly.

_**S****hpilkes **(Noun): A state of impatience, agitation, anxiety, or any combination thereof._

**-X-**

It was okay, Franky told herself. This was normal, and in the realm of normality, it wouldn’t be anywhere near a stretch to suppose this shit happened to everyone.

But even with that in mind, it failed to suppress the rampant butterflies fluttering and crawling the lining of her stomach. She gulped and tensed her jaw, tightening her grip on her dad’s arm. It didn’t take much for Alan to sense it before he looked down, concerned, to see Franky’s eyes glued forward with her mouth slightly agape to let out little breaths of air.

Bemused, he frowned and smiled. “Hey, what’ve you got to worry about, love? This is the best day of your life.” She looked up to him and silently agreed. He was right. But that still didn’t help.

“Fuck, I dunno, dad. Just nerves, innit.” Alan chuckled and squeezed her hand.

“Well, stop your fussing. You look great, kiddo. I’m dead proud of ya.” A broad smile broke Franky’s face and she nodded.

“Thanks dad.”

Behind them continued a contained commotion hosted by Boomer. “Now listen up, slags,” she announced, darting her eyes between Allie and Doreen. Allie rolled her neck back and sighed. This was project Greenwall all over again except with dresses instead of navy workwear. “I’m the maid of honour, yeah? Which means I go right behind Franky and then it’s you two, just like we rehearsed.”

“Yeah, we know, Booms. Just chillax, alright, we’ll be fine,” Doreen stressed.

Reluctant, Boomer nodded with tint of confidence. “Yeah, well, just don’t fuck up, but. Don’t step on me pissing shoes or nothing cause I’m already getting blisters from the bloody straps.”

“Told you that size was too small for you,” Allie said.

Boomer scoffed and scowled. “The other sizes made me toes look big!”

Before Allie could muster a reply, the wife-to-be turned to face her bridesmaids. Each of them hushed and straightened up like soldiers with smiles plastered on their faces and flowers in each hand.

“You guys ready?” Franky asked. The three of them nodded in synchrony.

“As ready as you are, hey,” Doreen beamed.

Gulping once the music commenced, Franky took a sharp intake of air. Her three friends scurried into position and waited for Franky and Alan’s lead. Giving his daughter an encouraging smile, they began to slowly make their way into the ceremony. Heads turned with excited glares filled with anticipation fixed onto the woman. Franky ignored them, best as she could, and kept her own eyed forward. She’d both visualised and dreaded this moment for months now. This was a step into a new world of her life. A commitment so big, she never knew she would care so deeply and depend on one single person to want it this badly. It was only the blazing limelight shining down on her that made her nerves tenfold.

“Franky!” Tessa’s voice proclaimed from a left pew as she squirmed and wriggled on her mother’s lap. The crowd snickered at the sudden, endearing voice.

“Hi baby,” Franky grinned, giving her young sibling a little wave. More relaxed, her vision finally settled on Bridget. Her breath was stolen from a single glance as the two finally met only a foot apart. Instantly, Franky’s chest flooded with warmth which replaced all tension. They each shared smiles and looks of hope to prevail for longer than they dared to dream.

After the ceremony, a banquet hall was lively with loud music and dancing guests. Departing from a crowd of co-workers from Legal Relief, Franky made her way over to the main dining table to busy herself with more cake. She took a moment to pause and appreciate the two, untouched glasses next to each other and the end of the table and smiled at the places. The places that were reserved for both Liz and Bea’s spiritual presence. It was Boomer’s idea and Franky would have to thank her for that. Occupied with her thoughts, Franky didn’t notice Bridget slip beside her until an arm circled her waist.

“Hey,” an elated and slightly tipsy Bridget murmured. “Thought you’d disappeared.”

Franky smirked and pulled her wife closer into her arms. She paused to admire her luck then quickly darted her eyes up to the ceiling. “Oh fuck,” she said, wincing with her eyes welling up. “Shit, I was meant to be cool. Thought I’d get through the day, now look at me.”

Bridget snorted. “You’re okay. You’re Franky Westfall crying in a pantsuit on your wedding day, definitely cool. Come here,” she purred, snaking her arms around the woman’s neck to pull her down for a kiss.

“Oh, God,” a barefooted Boomer mumbled, stumbling onto the scene awkwardly. “Tongue-fucking and crying, err, yeah, I’m just gonna – ”

“Oi you,” Franky called after her maid of honour after breaking away from the kiss. Boomer stopped in her tracks and swerved around. “Get your arse over here now.” Grinning, the woman paced back over, and the two wives reluctantly pulled apart.

“Congratulations, ay,” Boomer grinned cheekily, resting her weight against the table.

“Thank you, Booms,” Bridget smiled.

“Where’s Allie and Dors?” Franky said.

“Oh, Dors is having a pash with nash…” Boomer froze and started to cackle. “Hey, pash and nash, that fucking rhymes,” she wheezed. “Yeah, an Allie’s talking to some chick from your work, ay.”

“Is she now?” Franky said, a menacing flash occurring in her eyes. Boomer scanned what was left of the food on the table and licked her lips. She selected a handful of nibbles and inched closer to the newly weds as if to disclose a secret.

“You know if you guys have any leftover cake you want to get rid of, like, when this is all over, you can just let me know, yeah?”

Franky chuckled, remembering just how much she adored her best friend. “Booms, you’ll be the first to know, right babe?”

Delighted, Boomer said a quick “cheers”, then announced her departure and sped her way to the dance floor when she heard the intro to her favourite song. Bridget chortled and pressed closer to her wife. “I take it your dad’s not really into dancing all that much?” She asked after Franky nibbled on a small slice of cake. The woman snorted and gestured towards the man sat at their table, holding and his youngest child who was fast asleep in his arms.

“I reckon he’s blown out already from today’s babysitting.”

“Well…” Bridget started, wiping away the pink icing from the corner of Franky’s lip. “I hope that’s not the case for you, darling, cause I’d really like a dance with my wife, and I haven’t been able to do that yet.”

The paralegal responded with benign smile and an unexpected blush. She linked their fingers and pressed her mouth close to Bridget’s ear. “Guess I’ll have to fix that then, won’t I?”


	2. Self-Conscious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky is in momentary denial about her sight.

_**Self-conscious** (adjective): Feeling undue awareness of oneself, one's appearance, or one's actions._

**-X-**

“I already told you, it’s on page twenty-seven,” Bridget said, tossing the remaining of her washing load into the machine. She stood up from her position, grabbed the basket and noticed Franky leaning over the kitchen island, frantically flipping through the brochure in annoyance. When she finally got there, Bridget watched Franky’s eyes rove the page in search for details.

“Bottom right corner.” The psychologist waited.

“Where?”

“What do you mean where?” Out of patience, Bridget walked her way over to Franky’s side and dumped the washing basket on the countertop. She placed a finger beneath the chunks of text and over-saturated photographs of hotels and pools until it landed on a small box with information.

“Oh,” Franky mumbled. She squinted her eyes and scanned the small piece numerous times, leading to Bridget’s bemusement.

“What’s that about?” She asked.

“Huh?”

“That?”

“What?”

Bridget bit her lip and fell victim to a sly grin. “Do you need glasses?”

Franky was taken aback. “No!” She frowned. Bridget failed to suppress a chuckle.

“Baby, I think you might.”

“What? Nah, no way, I was just reading it over, that’s all,” Franky defended and attempted to move on from the subject. “Anyway the fucking font size in this mag is too fuckin’ small.”

“It’s not that small,” Bridget said, tapping on the page with her finger.

“Yeah it is.”

Franky could see Bridget pause, visibly disagreeing, and stressed for her to ignore her concerns.

“Franky…”

“I’m gonna look on the website, yeah? So get your grubby mitts out my brochure,” Franky cracked, adding a light laugh at the end. She shifted to fetch the laptop and arrived back into the kitchen looking rather pale and unfocused. Bridget observed her for a moment before she decided to walk over and join Franky on the sofa. She brought hand to brush some the paralegal’s hair over her shoulder and gently scratched her neck. With a sigh, Franky tore her eyes away from the laptop screen and looked away into the distance.

“Okay, fine,” she said, resting her hands on the keypad. “Yes, I probably do, I just…Haven’t been arsed to make an appointment at the opticians.”

Bridget chuckled, then offered a comforting smile. “Well, you probably should, baby.”

Franky nodded.

“Were you embarrassed?”

Franky froze, a blush creeping up on her. “A bit,” she admitted.

“_Awww,_ you’re such a softie, Franky Doyle,” Bridget cooed, pressing herself closer to the woman who appeared to be now less tense and disarmed of any self-shame. She scoffed at the psychologist and poked her in the ribs in jest.

“Look – are ya gonna let me book this holiday, or what, Gidget?”

“Sure. Just make sure you don’t misread two for three and book and extra place.”

Franky sighed and looked down at Bridget with a smirk. “Just shut up and kiss me.”


End file.
